


To Assume Makes An Ass Out Of You And Me

by gemjam



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Jealousy, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 19:25:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17229791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemjam/pseuds/gemjam
Summary: Peter finds a suspicious smelling hoodie in his laundry and assumes the worst.





	To Assume Makes An Ass Out Of You And Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thegirlwhoknits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlwhoknits/gifts).



> Ficlet fill for _thegirlwhoknits_ who wanted _one character thinks the other one is cheating/interested in someone else when they aren't._

Peter is doing laundry when he comes across a hoodie he doesn’t recognise. That in and of itself isn’t cause for alarm. All of Stiles’ clothes are a variation on a dismal theme and Peter really can’t be bothered to keep up with them, but this particular one smells of a stranger and it instinctively makes Peter’s lip curl up in distaste. He brings it up to his nose, and he can smell Stiles in there too, he’s been wearing this. And he’s been aroused in it. And he’s come on it.

Peter’s hand curls into a fist around the material, getting to his feet. He leaves the whites and the colours strewn across the bathroom floor and grabs an empty cardboard box from the utility. It used to contain something Stiles ordered from Amazon because apparently Peter is his own personal assistant. He’s useful. That’s about all he’s certain of in that moment.

He goes around his apartment and he collects up all of the things that Stiles has left there over the last few months. There’s a surprising amount. In the kitchen there’s sugary cereal and a mug with some kind of comic book character on it and some instant hot chocolate powder. In the living room there’s a text book and a notepad and some pens and highlighters. There’s a blanket on the back of the couch that matches none of Peter’s décor but it migrated over here because Stiles used to complain he was always cold. So ungrateful.

In the bathroom there’s shaving foam and a cheap razor and body wash and deodorant. There’s a toothbrush and his own brand of toothpaste because Peter’s was too strong. There’s a magazine in the corner and there’s dirty clothes mixed in with Peter’s because he treats this place like a laundry service. Peter picks every one of them out, piling them into the box. Stiles can just wash them himself, or find himself another idiot to do it for him. Maybe whoever is all over that hoodie. Peter grits his teeth, moving to the bedroom.

There’s spare socks and underwear, comfy things to sleep in, a pair of jeans and another hoodie and a stupid plaid shirt. They have nothing in common. There’s a book on the bedside cabinet and some lube in the drawer because Stiles didn’t like Peter’s brand. Maybe he can finish off the bottle with whoever he’s fucking now.

Peter wants to fold down to the floor, but he doesn’t let himself stop. He packs away the paperclip that’s on the bedside cabinet for no discernible reason, but Peter wants no trace of Stiles left so he can fucking take it. He packs the crackers that are by the bed and the earphones that are in a tangled mess. He packs the single mint that’s long since lost its packet. None of it has any meaning to Peter now.

He places the box down by the door and then he returns to the bathroom, stoic and purposeful. He has laundry to do. _His_ laundry. Everything and everyone else can go to hell.

Stiles predictably turns up when his classes are finished for the day, probably for food and someone to get him off. He lets himself into the apartment with the key that Peter trusted him with and bumps straight into the box on the floor, nearly going flying. It fills Peter with quiet rage.

“What’s this?” Stiles asks, peering at the box.

“That’s all your things,” Peter tells him, his voice hard and cold. “Leave the key, take it, then go.”

Stiles stills, looking over at him. He studies him for a moment but Peter doesn’t give. Stiles closes the door quietly behind himself, stepping around the box.

“What?”

“That’s all your things,” Peter repeats, giving him a steely look. “Leave the –”

“I heard what you said,” Stiles cuts in. “I was hoping for a little elaboration. Such as, what the fuck is going on?”

Peter sighs. He doesn’t want to find Stiles charming right now. He just wants to keep on hating him. “I could smell you all over that hoodie along with… _him_ ,” Peter says, putting all of the distaste he can muster into his voice.

Stiles frowns, looking down at the box. He pulls out the offending garment. “Freddy’s hoodie? What about it?”

“Stiles, I’m a werewolf,” Peter says wearily. “I can smell your scents together. I can smell your arousal. Your come. It paints a very damning picture.”

Stiles blushes, his cheeks going crimson with shame. That’s something, Peter supposes. He’s only sorry he got caught out though. Peter sags into the couch. It’s not like this wasn’t inevitable. How long did he really think he could hold Stiles’ attention? He’s at college, he has no end of hot young things to choose from. Why would he stay with someone as old and bitter as Peter? He never had a hope of competing.

“Wait,” Stiles says. “Do you think he was there when I came on that?”

Peter looks up at him, feeling suddenly off balance. “What?”

And then Stiles is laughing, doubled over, such a joyous sound that Peter realises he’d somehow already missed, even though Stiles was only out of his life in his head. Peter frowns at him, feeling small and silly, even though he doesn’t quite understand why yet. Stiles is absolutely not guilty of Peter’s worst fears, of that he’s suddenly certain, because even if he wasn’t invested in this, Stiles is a genuinely good person. He wouldn’t laugh in Peter’s face unless this was actually funny. Unless Peter has made an idiotically short-sighted presumption.

“I borrowed that hoodie from Freddy because the lab was freezing and I left mine in the jeep,” Stiles explains. “I forgot I was even wearing it when I came back here a couple of days ago. You were at work and I was bored so I jerked off. It’s what I do. You know that about me. Then I realised what I’d done and I was mortified so I threw it in the laundry and told Freddy that I forgot to bring it.” He moves across the room, sobering up. “You thought I was cheating on you?”

“I thought…” Peter says, but he’s so humiliated he can’t even begin to justify it. He buries his face in his hands.

“Peter,” Stiles says, sitting down in front of him on the coffee table. “I’m with you. Completely with you. It wouldn’t even cross my mind. I don’t look at anyone else.”

Peter lifts his head, giving him a pained expression. “Everybody looks.”

Stiles shakes his head. “I don’t,” he says, so straightforward and honest that Peter can’t doubt it. It’s not because he can hear his heart beat, it’s because he can see the truth in his eyes and he trusts him. He feels like such an idiot. Stiles reaches out, taking hold of Peter’s hands. “You are one hundred percent stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”

“I like it,” Peter says, squeezing his hands back.

Stiles smiles at him with such love and contentment. “Good.”


End file.
